


Sometimes a Great Wave

by yet_intrepid



Series: Hurt/Comfort December [10]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Kidnapping, Snarky Dean, Stanford Era, Torture, Waterboarding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-16
Updated: 2014-12-16
Packaged: 2018-03-01 18:25:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2783150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yet_intrepid/pseuds/yet_intrepid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean’s brain is racing. “I don’t know my dad’s social.”</p>
<p>“Please,” says Nose Ring. She turns her back.</p>
<p>Then Pipsqueak reaches for the table. He lifts the end Dean’s head is on, kicks the stacks of bricks out from under the legs, and drops it back down at a slant. Dean hears the sink running, and something clicks.</p>
<p>Dad's talked about this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sometimes a Great Wave

**Author's Note:**

> December 10 prompt: waterboarding.
> 
> I wrote this relatively quickly but struggled with it for a long time after, due to it being PWT (plot without theme) aka SWP (sads without point) and thus very far from my usual. However, I think I've finally come to terms with it, if hesitantly, and am ready to move on. Might start just numbering the prompts now instead of making them dates, heh.
> 
> Title from "Prowl Great Cain" by the Mountain Goats: "Wonder if you'll ever get the chance to ask me why I turned you in / I saved my own skin but I live to fight, I live to fight another day / Still remember how brave you were when they came to take you away // And I feel guilty but I can't feel ashamed / Prowl through empty fields, great Cain."

Dad makes a lot of people mad. Dean doesn’t like to admit it, really, but it’s true. And he makes some people really mad. Like, violent mad.

Like, kidnap his son to try and find out where he is type of mad.

Dean doesn’t even know what these particular people have against Dad. They’re hunters, far as he can tell, but nobody he’s ever met, and they’re keeping their names to themselves. Five who got the jump on him. Mostly just two who are sticking around now that he’s handcuffed in this shitty basement where it’s freaking freezing. Either nobody remembers that they took off his overshirt and jacket to search him, or else they think hypothermia’s a fun game.

They’ve already tried asking him where Dad is. He doesn’t plan on telling. Fact is, he’s not totally sure. Last he heard Dad was finishing up a job in Carlin, Nevada, but he’d mentioned something about another hunt he was researching further south. Hadn’t given any more details. And that was a week ago.

They’ve got his phone. They can start calling Dad and making threats anytime they want. Dean’s not holding a single card here.

The two who are sticking around are standing by a table in the corner. Dean cranes his neck, trying to see what they’re up to, but the table just looks like a table. Two of its legs are propped up on stacks of bricks to make them the right height. There’s some rope. A sink. A gallon jug. No knives laid out or anything like that, which is good. Dean’s heard a few too many stories about people getting their kneecaps smashed for information. He likes being able to walk.

Still, can’t be getting comfortable. There’s sure to be something nasty planned.

When they turn around and head towards him, he sizes them up. One man, tall and wiry, thirty-something. One woman, mid-twenties, broad-shouldered and short-haired. With a nose ring.

“We ready for him?” says the man. His voice squeaks and Dean hides a smile. Pro tip, dude, if you’re gonna kidnap people try to sound a little more threatening than a rubber duck.

“Yeah,” says Nose Ring. She grips his arm, pulls him up. “Shouldn’t take long.”

Oh, come on. Just because she’s got facial piercings doesn’t mean she’s got a right to underestimate him. He shrugs her off and glares as he follows her over to the table.

“Never does.” That’s Pipsqueak. “Okay, on the table. You gonna fight when we take off those cuffs?”

“Naw,” says Dean. “But then I’d say that either way, wouldn’t I?”

“Smartass,” says Nose Ring. They manhandle him onto the table and get his legs secured. She looks over at Pipsqueak. “Ready, set—”

They pop the cuffs. Dean doesn’t fight. They’re both armed and the basement door’s locked, anyway. He might be stupid, but he’s not out to get himself killed.

In just a few seconds his arms are tight by his sides and his chest is tied tight against the table. There haven’t been any threats, he realizes. None the whole time. That gets him scared. Threats are info.

“So,” he says, “you guys looking for something or do you just get your kicks this way?”

Pipsqueak snorts. “Funny, kid. We want your dad’s—”

“Location, right.”

“Not even that. Just his social security number.”

Dean blinks. “What?”

“Not even the whole thing,” puts in Nose Ring. “Last four digits. Not that hard.”

Dean’s brain races. He can’t think why they want it, but it’s gotta be bad. “I don’t know my dad’s social.”

“Please,” says Nose Ring. She turns her back.

Then Pipsqueak reaches for the table. He lifts the end Dean’s head is on, kicks the stacks of bricks out from under the legs, and drops it back down at a slant. Dean hears the sink running, and something clicks.

Dad’s talked about this. Mentioned it with some of the other stuff from Vietnam.

Dean can’t name it inside his head, can’t do anything besides struggle to keep his breathing under control at least until it starts. He knows the stats. It shouldn’t take long.

Never does.

He knows Dad’s social. Last four digits 7821. Knows a whole list of fake ones, too. Phone account, 4776. Most recent car registration and drivers’ license to match, 3952. If he knew what they wanted, he could give them the wrong one right now and not have to do this.

Nose Ring’s coming over with the gallon jug and Pipsqueak’s grabbing a towel. “Wait,” says Dean.

They wait.

“What—what’s it for?” he asks.

“Phone tracker,” says Pipsqueak.

“3952,” says Dean, desperately.

“Name on the account?”

“James Washick.”

Nose Ring gets out her phone and makes the call, pacing across the room. Dean waits, trying not to hyperventilate, hoping desperately that the phone company will be down or have an error. Anything to buy him time.

No luck. Nose Ring turns around, angry.

“It’s a fake,” she calls out. Then she glares at Dean. “Nice try, but we’re still going after the real thing.”

Panic takes over. He doesn’t want to drown. But they press the towel down over his nose and mouth and start pouring the water, just little spurts, and he tries not to breathe but then everything is wet towel and pressure and pain in his lungs and he can’t hold his breath anymore.

The water rushes in and he can’t swallow it. It’s in all the wrong places, like it’s filling up his whole head, like his brain is getting crowded out. He can’t breathe, oh God, he can’t fucking breathe and he’s pushing on those ropes for all he’s worth because he is going to _die_.

The water stops. The towel comes off. Dean turns his head to the side and coughs and water comes out, so much water, from his mouth and his nose. And his eyes. He’s crying. He’s going to die.

Pipsqueak’s bringing the towel back. Dean flinches.

“No,” he whispers. “Please.”

“Just one way out,” says Nose Ring. “We’re going easy, you know. That was only seven seconds.”

Dean shuts his eyes. He didn’t think he was this soft. Didn’t think he’d ever consider letting them track down Dad. But he doesn’t know if he can do this again.

Before he can make up his mind, the towel’s back on his face and the water’s coming and he tries so damn hard not to breathe it in but he can’t hold on long enough. He tries to lift his head. Tries to swallow. They hold him down. More water. More water.

It’s over.

He coughs it up again. Hyperventilates. Sobs a little. Thinks, Dad can always ditch the phone, can’t he? He’ll know for sure if he’s getting tracked. Dad’s good. Dean might have got himself kidnapped and broken under questioning but Dad, Dad’ll make it.

Pipsqueak picks up the towel again. Dean shakes his head fast: no, no, no.

“Four,” he starts, wheezing a little. “Seven. Seven. Six. I swear to God, that’s what it is. Might—might wanna have somebody else call so they aren’t suspicious.”

Pipsqueak looks over at Nose Ring. “You think we should have one more go to see if he sticks with it?”

“Naw,” says Nose Ring. “Try the number first.”

Pipsqueak puts down the towel, pulls out his phone. Paces off to make the call. Dean takes in a shuddering breath and turns his face away.

Just then, gunshots ring out upstairs.

Dean might be stupid, but he knows to call someone when he thinks he’s being trailed. And he might be a pathetic fuckup who doesn’t deserve the air he wants so bad, but his phone is traceable, too.


End file.
